Let Down Your Hair
by Koala Monkey
Summary: Emma needs Rachel Gold, Mr. Gold's disturbed daughter, to tell her about the book of fairy-tales, but it'll take a patient therapist to get her to talk. Rapunzel wants to follow her conscience to leave Rumpelstiltskin's tower and Jiminy wants to help.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- **To add on to the rising fanon trend of pairing Jiminy Cricket with Rapunzel, I've decided to write my own version of their story (hoping to raise awareness of this idea in the hopes the writers see it and get inspired). This has been partially fueled by the 'Once Upon A Time' roleplay that I'm in (I play Archie Hopper, of course) and some of the story lines we've made up. Some of it has been inspired by various depictions of Rapunzel in the media and some has just been made up by yours truly. My goal here is to make this story _feel _like it could be an episode of the show, so you might notice a re-work of various fairy tales and their characters to fit that set up. We'll see just how successful I am when all is said and done. Let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer- **Not mine.

* * *

><p>In the lowest cellar of a rather greedy King's castle, a young peasant woman was thrown and locked inside with endless mounds of straw, a spinning wheel, and one, single window to shed the light of the full moon on her work.<p>

She was in trouble, for her father, desperate to marry her off to a King that was desperate for a wife, made the very outlandish promise that his daughter could spin straw into gold. It was enough to get the King's attention, for he had her summoned to the palace and announced that if she could turn the entire room of straw into gold, he would make her his Queen. If she did not, however, both she and her father would be promptly executed.

The truth of the matter was, the girl could _not _spin straw into gold. She knew her father to be a foolish, impractical man, but she could say nothing to convince him not to tell the lie.

"Aren't riches beyond our wildest dreams worth the risk?" he had asked. "Wouldn't you rather die than live the rest of your life in poverty?"

No, she wouldn't, but it was unfortunately not her decision to make. Thus, here she was, faced with the problem of somehow spinning straw into gold or being executed at dawn. She began to cry, knowing this would be the last night of her rather short life, as well as the most agonizing.

But it was when she felt that things were most hopeless that a voice joined her in the room.

"What ever is the matter, _dearie_? I can't imagine what a lovely young thing like you would have to cry about."

She looked up to see the strangest man staring back at her. He was rather short and slim, with dark, oddly-colored skin that seemed to glow like gold in the light of the moon. His eyes were piercing, almost snake-like, and they surveyed her as a predator does before striking its unassuming prey. Despite this, however, he wore an unsettlingly pleasant, fox-like grin.

"W-who are you?" she felt compelled to ask.

"Who I am is not important, I assure you. What _is _important is how you're going to spin all of this straw into gold before the sun rises tomorrow morning!"

She stared at him a moment, at a complete loss for words. Who was this man, this creature? He gave her an unpleasant churning in her stomach and something intuitive told her he was a thing to be avoided.

"How did you know that?" she asked.

He shook a finger at her and tsked playfully.

"You're asking _all_ the wrong questions. Who I am and why I know is my own business. Shouldn't you be looking for ways to save your neck and become the next queen?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..." she agreed, unsure. "But how? Straw _cannot _be spun into gold, much less by some peasant girl like me...and even if I could, I doubt I could finish this whole room in one night."

"That's where you're wrong," he grinned. "Where there's a will, there's a way, dearie, and I happen to have a way...for a price, of course."

She blinked, disbelieving.

"_You _could spin all of this straw into gold?"

"That I can!" he confirmed, triumphantly. "And make you Queen. You and your family will want for nothing."

She took a moment to survey him, mulling over the prospect in her mind. This man was certainly not _normal_, and probably not in the least bit trustworthy. Why did he want to help her? Why would he be capable of doing something as fantastical as making straw gold? Part of her said not to worry about any of that. If she did not accept his offer, she'd be killed for sure and certainly whatever deal he wanted to make could not be as detrimental as losing her life.

But then again, she knew there were some things far worse than death. It was for that reason that she continued to question him.

"What would you have me pay? I have nothing."

"Ah, but you will," he corrected, slyly. "Not long after you become Queen, you will have something very precious, indeed."

"What, specifically? Jewels? Money? Power? What do you want?"

"You _are_ a clever one, aren't you?" he marveled. "Or, perhaps, very foolish, depending on how you look at it. I think most people, if faced with your position, would have agreed to my proposition with no questions asked."

"You haven't made a proposition yet," she said. "If I am to agree to this transaction I must know what I will have to pay. Barter and trade is not unknown to me, sir."

He nodded, smiling wider.

"What I ask for in return for sparing your life and making you Queen...is your first-born child."

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief, not certain she even heard what she must have.

"My _first born_?" she repeated. "I shall be killed in any case if I give you that! The King wants to marry specifically for an heir. If I give away his first, he shall behead me for sure-"

"And yet on the other hand," he interrupted. "You shall _certainly _die if the King comes in here tomorrow to find that you and your father are liars. So what will it be, dearie?"

She fell silent a moment as she considered her options, none of them seeming to be very wise or attractive. In either case, she risked death, but the latter option at least made her Queen beforehand. But how was she supposed to give the first-born heir away? How would she ever explain that to the King?

Perhaps she could stage a miscarriage? Maybe the child would be stolen in the night? She was young, anyway, and would be able to have many more children besides. Certainly the King would not fault _her_ for something that happened accidentally.

"What will become of the child?" she asked after a time, needing to know that she would not be selling it off to a horrible life or death for her own sake. "Will she be safe? Will she grow up healthy and happy? Will you see to it that she's cared for all the days of her life?"

"But of course," he smiled, knowingly. "No one shall lay a finger on her, I promise you that."

She knew she would owe this child a tremendous debt. Perhaps she would live a nice life, be cared and provided for, grow up to be a successful adult...but she was nevertheless being denied the life of a royal for the purpose of saving her mother's. She hoped, above all things, that her child would have the capacity to forgive.

"Very well," she decided.

With a shake of their hands, the deal was complete. The strange man set to work spinning straw and she marveled at the sight of it emerging from the other end of the spindle as gold. Eventually she could no longer keep her eyes open, and she laid down in a corner of the room and went to sleep, attempting to dream of the new life she would have and not the child she would have to give up.

When she awoke the next morning, the man was nowhere to be seen, but the room shone as bright as the sun itself with mounds and mounds of golden straw. He really _had_ done it, and all in one night! The King and his men arrived not long after she had awoke and he nearly doubled over at the sight, almost as if he suspected she had been lying all along. Nevertheless, he announced right there that they would be wed that very evening, for if anyone was worthy enough to be his queen, it was the young woman that possessed this magnificent power.

Her life was forever changed from that day onward. She was wed to the King, crowned his Queen, and given more lavish treasures than she could have ever imagined. Instead of walking everywhere she had to go, she was taken in a gilded horse-drawn carriage. She was showered in jewelry, clothes, and anything else her heart desired. And then one day, she became pregnant.

She was fearful everyday of her pregnancy, knowing that at any moment the strange man who had saved her life would come back demanding his payment. It was unfortunate that she had grown to truly care for the child growing within her and eventually decided she could not bare to part with it, because she knew the man would be back whether she wanted him to be or not.

She had expected him the night she gave birth, but he did not show. When he did not return for a week after her, she began to believe that he may never come after all. It was in this time that she lived in a blissful delusion.

It was ripped away from her the morning she and her husband, the King, awoke to find the cradle completely empty and no sign left of who might have taken the new princess or where they might have taken her to. She, of course, knew who the culprit was- but not his name or where he was from or any sort of information that could lead her to where he might be. Besides, she could never confess to her husband that this kidnapping was payment that _she _had agreed to so that her lie would not be discovered. He would never forgive her for that and likely send her to the gallows. Thus, it was a secret that ate away at her until she died not many years later.

The child, on the other hand, was indeed collected by the strange man and stowed away up into a single, high tower in the middle of a thick forest. There was no way up or down from this tower, outside of the usage of magic, and it was for this reason that the man felt she would be safest and most inaccessible here. He proceeded to name her Rapunzel after the rampion that grew fruitfully on the ground below and he claimed her completely as his own.

* * *

><p>Sheriff Swan was on a mission, this early Tuesday morning. It was a rather unusual one, given that her job typically entailed patrolling or heading up business at the police department, not walking purposefully to bookstores at 7:30 am. Yet, here she was, doing just that.<p>

It had occurred to her not long ago that Mary Margaret, who gave the book of fairy tales to Henry, _must _have gotten it from somewhere and maybe if she were to track down more information on who wrote the book or where it had come from she might get a better insight into all of the craziness going on in Storybrooke. She was beginning to think there was more to Henry's theories than just delusion, though how far into the outlandish she was willing to take that suspicion, she hadn't yet determined.

Strangely enough, there had been no information whatsoever about the book on the Internet, which she found especially odd. Even if it had been written by some local author and published by a lesser-known company in a small quantity, there should still be _something _about it, shouldn't there? Heck, even _she _was readily available to read about on google and she didn't fancy herself nearly as interesting as this book.

In any case, Mary told her she had gotten the book from the downtown bookstore and that's where she would go to try and learn something. Hopefully, it would be a productive venture and not a complete waste of time.

Inside, the bookstore was about how she had imagined it would look. Every open surface gave the impression that there hadn't been a good dusting in a while, though there wasn't much of that in any case given the mounds of books that only barely followed any kind of organization. Sure, there were genre labels above shelves as there should be in any bookstore, but Emma guessed that whoever had previously kept up this system had since let it go by the wayside. The lighting was dim, which she had to admit was rather pleasant, though it was somewhat outweighed by the heady smell of dust and age that seemed to linger around the store as a whole. She couldn't help but think that just being here was risking a severe asbestos poisoning.

No one immediately appeared when she came in, despite there being a bell on the door, so she called out,

"Hello? Anyone here? I have a question about a book..."

After a handful of minutes, there was the sound of rustling from a backroom that Emma could only get a small peek of from where she was standing. A young woman, likely around her age, soon appeared at the counter.

"Y-y-yes mam, what I can do for you?"

The woman was dressed in a rather tattered black hoodie and jeans, both of which hung off her wiry frame like a tent. She had very visible, vibrantly colored paint stains on her hands- blues, yellows, greens, dark purples- but they did very little to hide the evident scars that descended down her arm, from her wrist to her elbow. Her eyes, a light blue, were wide and blood shot, and her skin a rather pasty white, as if she didn't get an abundance of sun. Her tow-blond hair had the potential to be quite pretty, but being tied up in an unwashed, messy bun on her head didn't do it much justice.

The odd thing was, Emma hadn't seen her around the town before. She couldn't say that she knew _everyone _around here, but she had at least seen them all and gotten a rudimentary knowledge of what names went with which faces. This woman, however, was a total and complete stranger, and one that didn't seem too enthusiastic to be anything besides that to Emma as she avoided eye contact with her completely.

"Look, I'm sorry to bother you," Emma felt rather obligated to say. "I'm just curious about a book that a friend of mine purchased from this shop. We can't seem to find any information on it- no author, no publisher, _nothing_. I was sort of hoping you might have something on it to help us out."

The woman swallowed and fidgeted a bit, looking not unlike a child that is being scolded by a parent.

"Uhm...w-what was the name of the book?"

"I'm not sure," Emma confessed, cursing herself for having not gotten a better look at that before coming here. "It's a pretty large book of fairy tales, I know that. Mary Blanchard was the person who bought it, if that...rings any bells...?"

This seemed to only make the young woman more anxious and desperate to avoid any eye contact.

"This...this is a _used _bookstore, mam," she said softly, but not without a hint of irritation to her tone. "I...don't keep any kind of record or database..."

Emma, thankful for her _gift_, could immediately tell that the woman was not being entirely truthful. Then again, she wasn't very good at not making that rather unwaveringly apparent.

"What if I brought the book in?" she offered. "Maybe if you looked at it you would be reminded of something."

"I'd rather you didn't..."

Emma didn't say anything back to this, being at somewhat of a loss of what to do from this point. Her concern for this woman's well-being had only been increasing the longer they talked, as was her curiosity, yet it was painfully obvious that she could not hope to get her to open up- if that was even possible.

"Listen," she said after a time, gentle, but firm. "Any information you might have or find on this book would be a _huge _help to us. I'm Sheriff Emma Swan, by the way. Let me give you my cell."

She scribbled it on the back of a random business card she found conveniently tucked in her back pocket.

"Will you call me if you find anything?" she asked, sliding the card across the counter.

The woman just nodded, taking the card and disappearing back into the back room without so much as a goodbye.

* * *

><p>The young woman lounged in the seat of the sole window in her room while heavily immersed in a book of adventure on the high seas. She loved this seat out of all the furniture in her tower because it was closest to the outside. It was here that she could feel the warmth of the sun, the mild sweetness of the air, hear the chirping of birds. It was here that she would read, and the freedom of others, coupled with the slight sensation of it from the open window, made her feel <em>just for awhile <em>that she had it too.

The illusion would often be broken by the sound of one, single command:

"Rapunzel! Oh, Rapunzel! Let down your hair, dearie, father's come home!"

She was always excited when father came around. He only did once a week, _if _he were feeling up to it, but he always made a point of making his visits worthwhile for the both of them. They would typically spend the day talking, playing chess, reading to one another, sharing meals. He always brought with him fantastical tales of his journeys, of people he had met, as well as gifts for her from the outside.

It was nice having father to talk to, she would think, particularly when they lived in a world that was so dangerous and unforgiving. He had reminded her of this fact many a time.

"Why do you think I would put you in this high tower in the first place, my love?" he would ask. "The world is dark and cruel. Do not let the vision from your window deceive you, for it will, just as any fellow human would. You must trust me in this, my Rapunzel, for I have come to know the blackness of man's heart."

This was often why she felt guilty when she found herself yearning for the ability to leave the tower and explore. Her father loved her and he was wise. If he felt that the world was an unsuitable place for her to be in, she had to trust in that and obey him; she cared for him too much to do anything else.

So she wrapped her exceedingly long locks around the hook just beneath her window and allowed the rest to cascade down to where her father stood at the foot of the tower. He climbed up speedily, as he always had (rather like what she had read a spider monkey to be like) and joined her in the room.

"I have something for you, my dear!" he exclaimed, taking a small gold box out of his coat pocket.

"What is it, father?" she asked excitedly, accepting the box from him with great curiosity.

He smiled at her deviously.

"You must wind it, dear Rapunzel, to discover it's secrets."

This she did, heavily steeped in anticipation as she wound and wound it until she was sure she could wind no more. Thankfully, she didn't have to, as it was at that moment that a sweet, simple tune began to play and the lid of the gold box slowly opened. Inside was the tiniest, most beautiful dancer Rapunzel had ever seen. She twirled in time to the music, the wings that sprouted from her back dousing the inside of the box with a shimmering dust.

"How sweet!" Rapunzel marveled. "She is so beautiful, father. Are there more beings like her on the outside?"

She didn't miss her father's disapproving frown. He, of course, did not like it when she asked questions about the outside. He had expressed his concern for her overt curiosity about this on more than one occasion.

"Worry you not about that," he said, closing the box and proceeding to caress her hair. "I am sure you could find more like her in one of your books. I have provided you with a vast collection of them for a reason, my dear. In any case, you can always treasure _her_. She will dance for you whenever you like."

He then walked to a blank spot of wall. A great majority of the walls in her tower were covered in murals and various doodles that she had done in her spare time and one would have been hard-pressed to find a free area (she typically painted over old pieces when she wanted to do something new). But father knew where there was a spot, for he had returned to it many a time.

"And now that I have bestowed a gift upon you," he said with a grin. "It is time for you to return the favor."

She nodded obediently, knowing precisely what it is he wanted from her. She kneeled to the ground and drew aside a floorboard, taking out the wooden box from where she kept it safely hidden. From within, she withdrew the silver paintbrush, then went to fetch her paints, and then came back to where father stood, waiting.

"What will you have me paint, father?" she asked.

"A portal," he said simply. "I must be taken to the eastern kingdoms. In the countryside, if you don't mind. Come, dearie, you've seen pictures."

"Yes, father," she said obediently, beginning to paint the drawing she had been shown in one of her books about the various places in the world they lived in- places that she would only know in between pages.

"Father," she said tentatively, as she drew her brush across the stone. "Why must you go to the eastern kingdoms?"

She expected him to tell her not to worry about it, but instead he gave her another sly grin and replied,

"There is a certain fairy godmother who will be there later this evening. I must depart to meet her at the end of the day, when I usually leave you."

She had secretly hoped for a more specific answer than that, but she knew she had been fortunate to hear as much from him as she did, so she held her tongue. After she nearly finished, the two of them enjoyed the rest of their day together, doing all of the things they typically did; she read to him from her book about adventure on the sea, and he regaled her with stories of the outside world (all of them ending with the main idea, 'this is why you must stay in your tower, my dear Rapunzel').

When night fell, she added the finishing touches to the mural and immediately it transformed into a literal window into the eastern kingdoms. She could feel the familiar sensations of the outside and, for a moment, it occurred to her that she could simply run through the image and go roll in the country grass and lay on her back and look up at the stars. Instead, her father kissed her on the top of her head and quickly slipped through the portal before she could even try, making it -and himself- disappear into the stone completely.

* * *

><p>"Rough day?" Mary asked sweetly as Emma came tumbling into the apartment.<p>

"Not particularly," she replied with a huff, setting down the rather hefty grocery bags she'd had to carry all the way home. "At least, no more than usual..."

It was the truth, though her new job as Sheriff was generally more demanding than being Deputy. There was a large amount of behind-the-desk work, and though Storybrooke was unsurprisingly low on any real crime, she was still called to just about _any _and _every _minute instance that someone might have considered worthy of police reinforcement (including opening a pickle jar. No, she couldn't make this stuff up if she tried).

"Did you make it to the bookstore today?" Mary asked.

"I _did_," Emma said, compelled to remember the strange occurrence all over again. "It was...kind of a weird experience. I didn't find out anything, of course. I could tell the owner didn't want to give something away."

Mary groaned in realization, causing Emma to look up at her from where had been loading a few cans in the pantry.

"I forgot to tell you!" she exclaimed. "That bookstore is owned by Mr. Gold."

"Mr. Gold, eh?"

"Yes! I'm sorry, that must have been his daughter, Rachel. She usually runs it for him. I should have told you she's a bit...reticent."

"Reticent's not the half of it," Emma scoffed, folding up one of the paper grocery bags. "I think there could be something seriously wrong with her. I mean, she had _scars_ going down her forearm and I _know _that they weren't from a pet cat or something. Beyond that, she just seems...I don't know, _out of it_, I guess...maybe she's suffering from some kind of substance abuse?"

Mary just looked at her, puzzled, as if none of this had ever crossed her mind.

"You could always try talking to Mr. Gold about the book, I guess," she offered.

Emma laughed.

"Yeah, no way. Every time I agree to that man's help something blows up in my face. Besides, I know Rachel's hiding something. She knows something about that book that she doesn't want me to find out...but maybe I can...earn her trust, somehow? Get close to her?"

She realized the absurdity and dubious morality of the idea the moment it fell out of her mouth, but Mary pointed it out anyway.

"Are you saying you want to try to manipulate a possibly emotionally disturbed woman into giving you information...?"

"Not _manipulate_..." she corrected. "Maybe...maybe I can get her some help? Maybe if we could find someone who knew how to deal with people like her-"

The idea struck her like a bolt of lightning.

"Duh! Archie, of course! Why didn't I think of that sooner? We can get _him _to start treating her and maybe she'll open up a bit more to helping us out with this thing!"

Mary still seemed skeptical of the whole thing.

"Can she pay for that? Does she even have insurance?"

"Likely no," Emma sighed. "But I'll bet you anything her dad does. Look, I've got to give this a shot. It could help everyone."

Mary shrugged and returned to her book. Emma could tell she was still not entirely enthusiastic about the plan, but how else were they going to find out anything?

Now, of course, the challenge lay in seeing if Rachel's father would be willing to get her the help she needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma didn't like finding herself in Mr. Gold's shop, and yet it was happening far more frequently than she would have ever preferred. He had a way of pulling people _back in_, it seemed. Perhaps, as far as the town was concerned, Emma had stood up to him, but she was nowhere near _beating_ him. Something made her feel as though he had her tightly by the scruff of the neck, despite it all.

And here she was again, needing to ask him a favor.

"Sheriff Swann," he greeted in his own eerily pleasant way. "Fancy seeing you around here. I'd rather thought you considered me a thing to be avoided."

"I do," she said tersely, keeping her distance. "But I'm not here for me, today. I need to talk to you about your daughter, Rachel."

She could see his face fall slightly and become a bit stern. It was the most genuine emotion she had ever seen him express.

"And how did you meet Rachel?" he asked, coming around the counter.

"Bookstore, where else?"

He chuckled a bit under his breath. "Forgive me, Sheriff, but you don't exactly seem the bookish type. Don't tell me you were just in browsing."

"It's not important what I was doing," she said defiantly, hoping that a mention of her underlying purpose could be avoided. "What's important is the state your daughter is in. Mr. Gold, I'm deeply concerned about her. There's obviously something wrong, if not a few things, and I really think she could use some kind of therapy."

"You're suggesting I put her in it?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I'm not suggesting, I'm _telling _you that it's what she needs. Don't you care enough about your daughter to see to it that she gets proper care?"

"I give her everything she could ever want or need," he said matter-of-factly. "She wants for nothing and when she does, she tells me."

"Mr. Gold," Emma sighed. "Your daughter is a grown woman. She should be allowed to get some things for herself."

"If you deem that so important, Sheriff, then why aren't you encouraging her to find some access to health insurance on her own? Could it be because you know she _can't_?"

Emma stilled, at a loss for anything to say in response.

"I_ know_ what my daughter needs. I really don't need you or anyone else giving me _helpful _suggestions."

He then shifted over to one of the figurines on the counter closest to him -which Emma thought looked like some sort of gold music box- and began to rather absently inspect it.

"Besides, I know you're not here just because of her," he continued. "You want something and you want to find a way to get it without my help. I'm afraid trying to go through Rachel is a poor avenue, Sheriff."

"I already owe you one favor too many," Emma said through her teeth. "I'm done making deals with you."

With that, she turned on her heel and left, determined to find _someway _to help Rachel, with or without her father's assistance.

* * *

><p>Deep in the forest, Geppetto and his son, Pinocchio, maneuvered through the wilderness with an axe, a cart, and an elderly donkey. They had been on a mission for good, sturdy wood for toy and furniture making and now that they had a cart-full, they were on their way back to the village to resume work.<p>

The problem was, they were lost. Geppetto had made the decision to go a bit deeper into the woods this time for the purpose of seeking out better material. He noticed that the trunks of the trees got thicker and sturdier the father in one went and, interested in having only the best for his merchandise, he urged them onward. He knew it was a risk. At a certain point, the woods were no longer public domain and became territory of the Queen. To go farther in meant possibly crossing over into her area and being caught by a patrol, and if they were caught maiming her trees, well...that would be the end of them for sure.

Now, however, Geppetto wasn't quite sure _what _part of the forest he was in. It looked like nothing he had seen in his sixty-five years of life and that fact worried him more than if he had been in _her_ area. He knew his way back from there, at least.

"Papa, look!" Pinocchio cried, pointing towards a clearing. "I think I see a tower!"

Geppetto squinted his elderly eyes to try and see what his son was talking about. Sure enough, he could make out the faint outline of what was clearly a very tall stone tower in among the trees.

"Do you think we might find some help there, papa?" Pinocchio asked.

"Yes, my boy, we might," Geppetto said, petting his son's head proudly. "Thank goodness for your youthful eyesight, otherwise we might be caught in this forest forever."

They made their way quickly towards the clearing, but Geppetto felt slightly disheartened to see that the tower was rather old with vines crawling up the side. It was likely, he thought, that no one had lived here for quite sometime, given its state of disrepair. He considered, perhaps, going in the tower himself to see if there wasn't some clue of their whereabouts (a map, for instance) but he could see no door or stairs or any evident way in.

"Very strange," he said as they stopped at the foot of the tower. "Very strange to build such a high tower in the middle of the wilderness like this, and with no way in or out, it would seem..."

The two were silent a moment as they deliberated on what to do next, but the silence was soon broken by Pinocchio exclaiming,

"Father, look! There's a girl up there! I saw her, father, I swear it!"

Geppetto would have no hope of seeing her, not with his impaired eyesight and the glare of the sun inhibiting him further. Nevertheless, he _knew _he could trust his son to tell the truth, as he had come to learn the hard way what trouble lying could get a person into.

So Geppetto decided instead to call up to the person in the tower, hoping he could procure a response.

"Miss! Miss! Please, Miss, answer us! We're in need of help! We're lost in the forest! Do you know a way out? Please, Miss, it will be dark soon and we must get out of here before the wolves come out!"

He still couldn't see, but Pinocchio informed him that the girl had reappeared. This was confirmed when she called back,

"W-what is your name, sir?"

"Geppetto! This is my son, Pinocchio. We've been out chopping wood and have gotten lost. Can you help us in any way?"

The girl apparently paused a moment there in the high window and then disappeared. Father and son were almost certain all hope was lost until, suddenly, a silky, yellow-golden rope that looked strikingly like human hair tumbled down from the window to where they stood.

"Climb up!" she called.

Geppetto and Pinocchio exchanged skeptical looks, but seeing as they had no other alternative, Geppetto allowed his son to climb up the rope first.

"Tie your cart to the end," she said. "And take your donkey with you. We can haul them up when you've gotten up here."

Geppetto thought it strange that she'd ask them to bring all of their possessions with them when he could have easily left the cart and his donkey at the bottom, but he ultimately decided she probably had a good reason and decided to do as she asked.

It was when he arrived at the window and hauled himself into the tower with the girl and his son that he realized the _rope_ was, in fact, the young woman's hair. He marveled at this as he and his son helped her haul up the cart of wood with her long locks.

"How interesting!" he exclaimed when they were finished. "A tower in the middle of the wilderness, occupied by a young woman with longest hair I have ever seen!"

She nervously smiled at him, seemingly shy and almost fearful.

"My name is Rapunzel," she said softly.

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Pinocchio asked.

"Yes," she answered, clearly endeared to him. "My father has kept me up here since I was a baby. He has always told me he does it to protect me from the outside world. He says it's a dangerous place filled with people who will hurt me. If he knew I had let you both up here, he'd be very upset, I'm sure..."

She then paused for a moment to regard the both of them with her large blue eyes.

"It's strange, then, that you two don't seem dangerous. In fact, you seem quite pleasant and kind."

"We are," Geppetto assured her. "I am but an honest toy-maker and all I ask is for a way back home. Do you know of one?"

She nodded. "Yes, I can help you. But first...would you both like something to eat? You look rather hungry..."

Geppetto knew for a fact that he was and that at any moment his protesting stomach would betray him, but it wouldn't be long before the sun would disappear and they'd have only the light of the moon to travel back home with.

"I'm afraid we cannot stay, though it is very kind of you to offer. It will be dark soon and it is never a good idea to travel through an unfamiliar wilderness at night."

"You won't have to travel!" she said. "I can have you back home in the blink of an eye, trust me. Won't you stay and eat, just for awhile? I'd love to hear about your home and the toys you make!"

Geppetto was very unsure of all of this, but it seemed a good enough excuse for his son to plop down at her small table and begin regaling her with stories of their town and their work. She listened intently as she began to prepare a soup, of sorts, in a cauldron over the fire. He eventually came to the conclusion that she must be some kind of generous enchantress who would do them the favor of transporting them back to the village. With that idea in mind, he sat down with his son and allowed himself to enjoy the supper she made for them.

They all talked and ate happily and Rapunzel was visibly opening up the longer they all spoke. Geppetto wondered if she had _ever_ really interacted with other human beings before. Her distinct, overt curiosity for everything they told her seemed to suggest that if she had, it was very seldom and infrequent. He also wondered what kind of a man be so selfish as to keep his daughter locked away from the world? Certainly, he understood the need to protect a child, but making it so they could never see or speak to anyone or experience anything for themselves was taking it to unhealthy extremes.

As she told them more about her life spent in the tower, Geppetto began to feel increasingly indignant and tempted to invite her to leave with them. She deserved to see more than this tower. She was a grown woman, after all.

He had made up his mind about it when she eventually rose from the table and began to take something out of the floor.

"What are you doing?" Pinocchio asked, intrigued.

"I have to get my paintbrush," she said simply. "Or else I won't be able to make your portal."

They didn't ask any questions as she retrieved the brush and her paints and went over to the one spot of wall that was not covered in some kind of painting or mural. She then began to paint -miraculously fast- what Geppetto could only guess was some sort of scenery. As the picture developed, Pinocchio exclaimed,

"Father! She's painting the village!"

He couldn't make this out until she had fleshed it out a bit more, but when she had it was nothing less than an exact image of their home. When she added a few finishing touches, the picture actually became _real_, as if staring through a window.

"Amazing..." Geppetto gasped. "How did you know what our village looked like?"

"Well, your description, of course! You both made it look so vivid in my head."

"But no one can just _imagine _something like that," Pinocchio pointed out. "Not that perfectly without at least seeing it."

Rapunzel seemed a bit confused.

"They can't? But...why not? You described it so well, after all."

"My dear," Geppetto said. "You clearly have some sort of power."

She giggled.

"Power? No, I think not. This brush is what has made the painting into a portal, not me."

"Yes, but you have some sort of a gift to imagine...I do wonder if this brush would work if anyone else were to use it...?"

The question was one of genuine, innocent interest, but Rapunzel seemed suddenly suspicious and troubled.

"No one else may use this brush," she said, a bit stern. "Father has strictly forbidden it. Come now, you must go. I've let you stay far too long."

Geppetto was at that point deterred from asking her to join them in going through the portal, but Pinocchio wasn't in the least. He gently shook Rapunzel's sleeve.

"Will you come with us, Miss Rapunzel? Please?"

She looked up at Geppetto then, wide-eyed, as if she needed some confirmation that she was truly being invited in the outside.

"It might be a good idea," he said tentatively. "There is much you should see."

She looked from the two of them to the portal and then back again, conflict evident on her face. He could read some clear kind of yearning in her and he knew that despite the fears her father had clearly instilled deep within her, she was also hungry for freedom.

It seemed, for one moment that she was going to relent and follow them through, but she eventually regressed.

"No," she said. "I musn't, I shouldn't. Father would never forgive me."

Seeming to notice the disappointment on their faces -particularly Pinocchio's- she offered a smile.

"But I should very much like to see you both again! It's rather nice to have friends from the outside for once. Here."

She scampered over to her bookshelf for a moment and searched until she withdrew the one she had been looking for. She proceeded to rip out a page and hand it over to Geppetto.

"It's a map of these woods," she explained. "As well as where you may find my tower again. I'm sure this will come in handy for more than just visits."

Geppetto smiled gratefully at her.

"Yes, my dear, it will! Thank you so much for everything. We shall be back to visit you soon, we promise!"

She hugged them both experimentally, seeming to approve of the gesture after having tried it but still a bit shy towards the action as a whole.

Geppetto and Pinocchio then stepped through the portal after a final goodbye and found themselves standing on the road leading into their village, which was just a few steps away. They turned to see no sign of the portal whatsoever, almost as if they had never left and had been on the road the entire time.

Later that night, Geppetto was tucking Pinocchio into bed when the small boy said,

"Father, I feel bad for Rapunzel. She must be awfully lonely up there in that tower by herself. I wish we could go see her everyday."

"Yes, my son, so do I."

"Do you think we could get her a friend? Maybe a pet to keep her company?"

Geppetto laughed at the idea at first, but then began to consider the prospect seriously. He could remember gaining a friend of his own when he most alone in the world and it had been that friend who had guided him through life and helped him become the man he was today. Conveniently enough, this friend lived to help others and was just the right size to live comfortably in the tower and get up and down from it as he pleased. Would he be willing to fulfill the role?

"Perhaps we can, son. Remind me to have a word with Jiminy tomorrow."

* * *

><p>"Sheriff Swan!"<p>

Emma dreaded visiting Archie's office. It wasn't because of him, as she had come to have quite a soft-spot for Archie. It wasn't the office itself, despite being a _therapist's_ office and somewhat of a reminder of the many therapists she had had to see in her lifetime. It was, in fact, one person in particular that made these visits a burden and that was his secretary, Sarcelle Lutin.

Sarcelle was a sweet woman, of course, but that was the problem. She was _too _sweet, rather like the sweetened ice tea from fast food restaurants that taste as if they've had an entire five pound bag of sugar mixed in. She was also very energetic and bouncy (sort of like she might have inhaled that five pound bag of sugar every morning for breakfast) and it was just _too much _for Emma to handle in one person.

She would still plaster on a forced smile and will herself to be cordial with Sarcelle instead of just asking her to take a chill pill and leave her the heck alone- because that would be really rude.

"Hi Sarcelle," she said as genuinely as humanly possible.

"Oh my gosh, I just _love _your hair this morning. I wish _my _hair was that naturally luscious. I just can't even imagine how you're able to give it that amount of body-"

"Thanks. Is Dr. Hopper available to talk for a second? I just need to have a word with him."

"Oh yes, I should think so!" Sarcelle squeaked, seemingly oblivious to Emma's sudden interruption. "He's in between patients right now, catching up on some paper work, I think. I'll just pop my head in and let him know you're here!"

Emma nodded, smiling curtly. She knew it was a foregone conclusion Archie would meet with her. He usually made a point of dropping everything when she came around to have a word, even if he was in the middle of session and it was for this reason she had began to suspect he might have developed something of a little crush on her- which was absolutely adorable, she had to admit. It was too bad he wasn't her type, she had thought, because he was otherwise a nice, reasonably-cute guy with a head on his shoulders and she usually leaned more towards the dead-beat, douche-bag idiot variety.

"Emma! Come on in," he beckoned to her from his inner-office. She did so, her familiarity with him at a point now where she automatically removed her coat and made herself comfortable on his couch- like she usually did.

"Nice to see you around here again," he said as he tended to organizing his paperwork on the desk. "Has 'Sheriffing' been keeping you pretty busy?"

"You know it," she said with a sigh, remembering the countless things she needed to get done before the day was through. "And Mayor Mills doesn't make anything easier."

Archie laughed, knowingly.

"She doesn't for any of us. So, did you just come to chat, or...?"

"I wish," she said honestly, steeling herself for what she was about to bring up. She waited until Archie was seated across from her and in a position to hear her concern before she spoke again.

"I actually came to...try and work out some kind of deal with you."

He titled his head in confusion.

"You...know this _isn't _Mr. Gold's pawnshop, don't you?" he joked.

"Yes, I definitely do, believe me...in fact, I've already been over there today. No no, this time, _you're _the one I need to ask for something."

He shrugged, skeptical, but clearly willing to hear her out.

"Here's the deal, Arch. There's...someone who really needs help. I'm concerned for her because she doesn't seem to have anyone else in her life who cares or recognizes that something is wrong. The problem is...she has no access to any kind of insurance or anything that could get her that help, like the kind you could offer her. I thought maybe...just _maybe_, you might be willing to come to some sort of compromise or deal with me or something...?"

He hesitated in answering her, seemingly to think the matter over.

"What's her name?" he asked after a time, and Emma cringed, having gotten the distinct impression that he somehow already knew.

"Uhm, Rachel Gold...?"

"I see," he sighed. "Well, I'm sorry, but there's really nothing I can do for her."

"Wait, why?" she asked, honestly a bit taken back that he hadn't even been willing to talk the possibility out. "Do you even know what's wrong with her?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," he said. "Quite well. See, I used to frequent that bookstore. Rachel and I were very close friends for awhile. I, of course, knew there was something wrong. Why shouldn't there be? Her father monitors and controls her every movement, as he has her entire life, I'd imagine. She suffers from crippling social anxiety, low self-esteem, and, yes, she has been inclined towards self-harm, but not for the typical reasons. It's sort of complex, but the point is, Mr. Gold asked me then to keep my distance and I've since respected that."

"Archie," Emma sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're going to just _let _Mr. Gold overpower your conscience like that? First you get Mayor Mills off your back and now you're-"

"Emma, please," he said firmly. "He can do a lot worse than she can, we both know that."

"But Rachel was your _friend_, wasn't she? You know she needs help. Are you just going to leave her to the wolves like that?"

A bit indignant from her implication that he betrayed a friend, he asked defiantly, "Well, what about you? What's made you take such an interest in her all of a sudden?"

Emma clammed up for a moment, wondering if she should really divulge the true reason. Her concern really didn't make much sense otherwise, she knew, and ultimately, Archie deserved to know.

"It's Henry's book," she said, reluctant. "Mary got it from that bookshop and so I thought maybe they might have a bit more information about it, so I asked Rachel when I got there and she acted like she didn't know what I was talking about but I _know _she's lying because-"

"Wait, Henry's _book_? This is all about a book of fairytales?"

Emma got up to help herself to some of Archie's whiskey, needing something to calm herself down from her passionate attempt to make him see this from her side.

"It's not _just _about a book of fairytales, Arch. Well...okay, it started out that way, but this woman also seriously needs help and so do we if we're ever going to get to the bottom of Henry's curse thing. We're Operation Cobra, remember?"

Archie chuckled a bit, unable to stifle it.

"Besides," she continued. "If Rachel is really your friend, you owe her your help, no matter what, especially if you know she needs it."

"You're asking me to go against Mr. Gold-"

"I'm _asking _you to do what your conscience tells you to and help out your friend."

Emma then kneeled down beside him and placed the hand that wasn't holding her whiskey glass over his (and it was in that moment that she considered the possibility she might have already had too much).

"Please, Archie._ Please _help us out."

She then smiled at him impishly before offering, "I'll buy you some Connemara!"

He laughed and shook his head.

"Yeah, well, given _this _favor, I'm probably going to need it."


End file.
